INVASION OF THE TRASH KITS (⚈_⚈) CARRIONPLACE

[NIGHTKIT.]

(⚈_⚈)   Somewhere in the distance, ShadowClan must hear it: rustle, rustle, "Mew!" A cacophony of noise, muffled first by the drizzling rain and then the protective layer between the patrol and the sound. A brown pelt just outside of the Carrionplace, too geometric to be anything but a twoleg's discarded creation even if it's dented slightly inward with the wet rain. And it smells. Maybe Carrionplace had simply affected it, or maybe it's whatever lingers inside.

Which– there are bodies writhing pitifully in the dark, some of them shuffling their unseen first steps with eyes wide to take in nonexistent light. The smallest of the kittens, who might nearly blend in with the shadows if the pale underbelly did not shift and tremble with whuffling inhales, seems particularly well-adjusted to the dark. They don't move even with their littermates scrambling around or above them, pinprick paws kneading into the sopping-wet box as if their empty belly might fill on its own. The wet food these twolegs have so helpfully provided has soured quickly in the greenleaf heat, and the kittens cannot eat it anyway.

Trash Kit 5 mewls for the second time in their short life, but can do little else.

ooc. please wait for at least two other trash kits before starting to open the box :D (sniffing around or anything else is fine though)

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[Cloudkit]

He pushes against the bodies besides him; his littermates their heartbeats as familiar as his own. He searches in vain to find food, to find the tummy he'd briefly suckled from and was now torn away from, he's frustrated and crying out. A loud "MEEEER-MEWL" joins his siblings, it's louder after all he was more stronger he'd been born big and healthy. Yet that doesn't stop him from feeling the unbearable ebb of hunger, his puny paws push out against one of his littermates sides, kneading against fur as he snuffles his nose against their flanks it's both for comfort and to seek out food that neither of them could provide to the other. His pelt brushes against another of his littermates he feels them moving all around him, their body heat is the only warmth that was afforded to him.

He feels a splash of coldness plop onto his head and he gives out another wail in discomfort at the feeling of wetness, his eyes that had only recently open clench shut as he feels the drop rolling down his forehead and onto his whiskers. "meeeer" Trashkit 2 cries. The unstable overhang that kept them enveloped in darkness and in temporary safety wouldn't hold forever, and neither would their tiny bodies.

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  text
  

• "speech"

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  ??? ✩ He/Him, Loner Kit, 0 moons
  ⭃ Fluffy blue tabby tom with yellow eyes
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Kedamono ↛ @legmeatt on discord, feel free to dm for plots. ​

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[Puddlekit..]

She doesn't know much in life at such a young age but she has learnt two things today. The feeling of being truly cold and how it hurts to have hunger ebb in such a young body, only a matter of time before it becomes starvation. There is warmth to be found amongst the bodies of her littermates and she burrows in between them, wriggling in an attempt to seek it further. This sentiment is shared, she can feel her littermates attempting the same thing.

Inside of the twolegs creation amongst her littermates lies Trashkit 3, a mess of light and dark fur, impossible to tell if the filth of the Carrionplace has rubbed against her or if that's just how she looks. She looks like decently strong kit, giving the facade of someone well fed just from her boxy frame. Small limbs swat against one of their pelts, a weak protest to say that only she could be the one to squirm here. Though she doesn't seem to mind Trashkit 2's paws kneeding into her pelt. Powerful lungs carry her still, letting out loud cries to punctuate how upset she was at the situation. “MEEEW” it's drawn out and dramatic, a sign of times to come if the construction that shields them from the rain holds.

Trashkit 3 fights to keep eyes that have just learnt to open wide and alert, it is a losing battle of course. Finding it much easier to squeeze them shut and continue to squirm in their makeshift haven. Even if the fat little raindrops find their mark on her tiny head, she will still rely on the warmth and strength her siblings provide.
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[TRASHKIT #1]

Healthy would be an overstatement, yet with his litter-mates to compare to he’d appear as hearty as a stallion. The tiny bodies pressed around him mewl and cry, but the boy does not let out peep. Instead, his legs scramble and race, kitten claws occasionally scrapping against the damp cardboard box he was imprisoned within.

His pelt is dirtied with the wet food his abandoners had provided them. It would not be difficult to guess he’s become so drenched in it do to his rapid movements and restless limbs flailing about. If only he could eat it and lick it up from his soft, kitten fur. Perhaps then the gnawing in his stomach and the cravings for milk would settle.

He squirms some more, his paws treading against the back of kitten two as he cries.

𖤓 INFO BATTLE

• » RUNNINGKIT
  » ShadowClan Kit
  » He/him . AMAB
  » A blue rosette with cinnamon patches and yellow eyes.
  » ”Speech”․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• » A meager kitten, defeating him requires no effort.
  » Will develop into a well-rounded fighter.
  » Fights to defend and protect.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

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[HEMLOCKNOSE]

you can count on me​

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Carrionplace was at best... gross. At worst, dangerous. It wasn't as though he was here for fun. As putrid as this place was, they had to make sure it was safe once in a while. The senior warrior sniffed around, ears perked in case rats decided to make themselves known. He shuddered at the thought of rats. Vile creatures, infectious and dirty and everything in between and beyond. The squeaking he heard, initially he waved off, assuming it was merely mice or rats, only for a particularly loud mewl to alert him to their true identities.

He bristled, quickly moving toward the sound of the kittens. Good grief, kits? he thought in a panic. How could anyone leave kits here?

Hemlocknose didn't immediately recognize that the babies were in this strange box. It was wet and dilapidated, nearly falling apart at the seams. "I've found kits!' He called to whoever was nearest. He'd need help getting them out. He extended his claws and carefully pierced them into the wet cardboard, shuddering at the feeling. He moved carefully and gently just in case one of them was close to his outstretched claws.

 

[BUZZARDKIT.]

I SAW A PHOTO, YOU LOOK JOYOUS​

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the young kit's frustration matches his siblings, if not somewhat exceeds it. one of the weaker ones– yet not quite the weakest. he is beat in that category by one sibling weaker than him. still, he cries out, the cold and hunger gnawing at his poor poor bones, rattling him from the inside out. he wants to be warm. he wants to be fed. he wants to be safe. but he knows not of this. he knows not why he cries, or what he wants, or even how to express what he wants. so he simply cries, matching pitches of his fellow littermates.

she only gets louder as the sound of someone unfamiliar gets closer. they cannot do anything to escape their fate, far too small and feeble to do anything but cry and wail for something. anything. their bodies brush against each other, and somehow that brings no comfort to her, right now. maybe it's because she's so hungry, that the pain is all she can think about. when will she be able to eat again? if she had enough of a consciousness to know, shed tell this cat that a princess needs to eat. but she can't. her mewls quiet down, only if to try and figure out how to get closer to the warmth of her siblings. she's hungry and cold. when would this hell be over?
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[FERNDANCE]

Hemlocknose's cry was like a cuff to the belly and Ferndance, hock deep in rubbish and looking for scran, quicly looked up at her older clanmate's words. In the distance, he pawed at a cardboard box and, for the first time since she knew her daughter's plan had worked, she felt fear within her heart. Pushing up from the trashpile, the mother hurried over, the little squeaks she'd associated with rats now becoming clearer, more kittenlike. She reached the other's side in record time for the slow-gaited she-cat, bobbing her head left and right to try and get a glimpse of them past Hemlocknose's claws. 'It's taking too long.' Impatience and instinct drove Ferndance to attack the top of the box, chewing on a mildewy corner until she could safely spit a chunk of it out. The aftertaste was vile, even for a lead-bellied warrior, but the smell when she pressed her nose to the new hole was even worse. Carrion and damp were dangerously present in ShadowClan, but concentrated like this, it was nauseating. From liver to primordial pouch, Ferndance's underbelly seemed to twitch and oscillate, as if trying to keep the morning's frog somewhere within it.

She kept attacking the corner until she could reasonably fit a paw within it, likely prodding a kitten or two as she felt around. 'They're warm...' Understandable, given the summer's heat, but had they been as close to death as she thought they were, then they'd have been like icecubes. Knowing now that they stood a chance at survival, Ferndance doubled her efforts, chewing and spitting, chewing and spitting, chewing and spitting, face contorted into a near-permanent gag. If she could just make the hole large enough, then surely she could pick them up (helping her clanmate claw the box instead did not cross her mind). "We'll bring them back to ShadowClan," she mewed to Hemocknose - it was non-negotiable in Ferndance's eyes. "Just... come on little ones... hold out a little longer... this is tricky when you're so stinky."

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[BATCHASER]

The Carrionplace was… disgusting to day the least. A putrid place full of Twoleg junk and rats scattering around. Vile creatures full of diseases. Large dark ears, swiveled to and fro as he walked alongside his clanmates. The lanky warrior perked up, when the cry of Hemlocknose reached his ears. Hearing kitten-like cries rose into the air, he blinked. He watches as Ferndance rushes towards the sounds, he trails after the molly.

Batchaser makes it to the pair, he tilts his head down to stare at the cardboard box. He scrunches his nose up at the strong smell of carrionplace and damp. His whiplike tail lashes, as he lets a slight frown curl upon his mouth. Who leaves kits here of all places? He felt one of his eyes twitch, as he observes Hemlocknose and Ferndance claw at the box. He shudders, turning his gaze towards where Ferndance was chewing on the mildewy box. Flicking an ear, as cranes his neck downwards to split open his maw wide then clump down on the damp box. Disgusting. He carefully chews on the box until it rips open a hole. He wanted to gag, as he drew his head away carrying a piece of box in his mouth. He turns his head to the side to spit it out. "Gross..." He mumbles under his breath, before turning back to peer down at box. Taking a pale-capped paw he prods at a kitten, feeling that they were warm. He hums as he takes his dainty paw out, to observe the mewling kittens.

He glances at his brown tabby clanmate who spoke of taking them back to Shadowclan. "We better hurry it up, if we're taking them back to camp." He easily agrees with Ferndance, with a slow nod.

THE DARLING MOON ‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ HIDDEN EYES AND SHARP GRINS

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• ( THAT'S ONE ENEMY DOWN! ) ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ BATCHASER. ╱ shadowclan warrior.
  ✦ cismale ; HE / HIM, fine with gendered terms. ; 32 MOONS & AGES EVERY 10TH.
  ✦ pansexual / not actively looking / open to crushes & romance
  ✦ a tall, shorthaired curly black smoke mix with gold/green heterochromatic eyes.
  ✦ battle notes — thoughts ; "Speech, 7077A1" ; attacks only
  ✦ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✦ smells like rain-soaked pavement, mist & sweet leaf rot
  — all opinions are ic
  
  — biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone
  

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